Kiss Me (Words Unsaid, Demons Untamed)
by MaybeItsJustMyType
Summary: At last! I give you; Molly's POV *** Tears streaked down over her cheeks as she pushed the bathroom door open, leaning on the frame for a moment, she allowed the sadness to drag her down, though she was careful to keep her sobbing silent. *** For Sherlock's POV read part one Say It (Words Unsaid, Demons Untamed)


_**I've split this into two because I'm not sure that I was clear and I don't want people to miss it..**_

 _ **If you missed the first it's called Say It (Words Unsaid, Demons Untamed)**_

 _ **This is still for my darling thescienceofsherlolly...**_

~o0oo0oo0o~

The splintering sound of wood on wood yanked Molly from her slumber as the door to her bedroom crashed open. Molly bolted upright and screamed loud enough to wake the dead; although she needn't have bothered, the dead having already woken themselves, beginning of course, with James Moriarty.

Eyes blazing, Sherlock surveyed the room, alighting on her very briefly before skittering away again.

Belatedly it occurred to her that she had no clothes on and was sitting up, breasts prominently on display; not that he had noticed - cared, she corrected herself.

"Has there been a development?" she asked tentatively as she pulled the covers up. She paused and then added softly, "With Ji- Moriarty?" Shame at her idiotic mistake flooded her body with adrenalin and she wished she could simply dissolve through the floor; she made do with slinking further under the covers.

Yanking her wardrobe doors open in tandem with a grating screech, he inspected the bland interior carefully before turning on his heel - Belstaff flaring, a giant bat unfurling its wings - and sank gracefully to his knees to look under the bed.

Apparently satisfied, he stood and regarded her, his expression volatile. Skewering her with his gaze, he proceeded to remove his outer wear; taking a glove into his teeth he tugged gently; first the right, then the left, eyes boring into her. Next, his scarf and Belstaff, slowly, purposefully.

Molly sat waiting, all too familiar with his predilection for dramatics, equally aware of the fact that it was often the wisest course to simply ignore them.

Without asking, he sat on her bed and screwed up his fists into the duvet.

When his movements threatened to expose her again, a sound escaped the back of her throat and she clapped her hand over her mouth in surprise.

His reaction was swift and unfathomable; he drew his face up into a snarl, chin jutting out in anger.

Shrinking back a little, still hoping to keep her blanket, and with it her dignity, she spoke softly, "Are you okay Sherlock?"

Very nearly vibrating with rage, he impaled her with his gaze for an endless moment before finally answering, "Why can't I see?"

"I'm sorry?" Frowning, she waited, he wasn't one for filling in the gaps, so while she was confused, she wasn't yet worried.

His head tilted as he regarded her, eyes flicking to her hands, "Are you though?" His tone disbelieving, "You don't seem to be releasing the covers."

Chewing the inside of her lip, she'd begun to feel vaguely alarmed, her own eyes flitted to her hands and then back to his eyes, "Wh-What?"

Sherlock sighed and looked down his nose, giving the distinct impression that it was he that was sick of her games. His voice was icy, eyes radiating displeasure, "Why can't I see Molly?"

"See what?" Unable to hide her nerves, her voice shook, the tension, coupled with her confusion was intolerable.

"You." He stated, seeming put out by having to explain such an obvious concept. "Moriarty saw you, yet you will not allow me?"

An embarrassing squeak made its way past Molly's lips, frozen, she made no attempt to hide it.

Tenderly, he called to her, "Molly," her name almost a question, almost a prayer on his lips.

That voice; without allowing herself time to think, she relaxed her grasp and lowered the blanket.

She sat unmoving, head held high, utterly bared to him, at his whim, although she felt far from powerless.

His breath gusted noisily, one hand reached out to touch before being sharply pulled back as though he feared he would be burnt, his teeth clacked and his eyes were beseeching as they sought her own.

Taking his hands in hers, she raised them to her lips and kissed each palm in turn, "I didn't love him Sherlock," she reassured him.

"You love me." It was a statement of fact, his voice was flat, no inflection.

Raising an eyebrow, she shook her head, her meaning clear, 'not in love.'

His mouth turned up at this, a smile, knowing and vain; he kissed her chastely, his hands warm on her breasts.

She felt engulfed, his scent filled her nostrils, his touch swamped her delicate frame; absolute bliss.

She moaned and he opened his mouth, sliding his tongue along hers, running his calloused fingers over her erect nipples.

Pushing up onto her knees she fell toward him, scrabbling at the buttons of his shirt. One by one they gave way to her insistent fingers. When the last button gave up its post, she slipped his shirt over his shoulders, trapping his arms.

Sitting back, she admired her handiwork, a smile danced playfully around her lips. He looked as though he'd been carved by the Gods themselves, a marble statue that they'd fallen in love with and breathed the gift of life into.

Leaning into him again she tangled with his trousers, finally triumphant, she freed his cock.

Mouth watering, she stared at it, it was as beautiful as the rest of him, long, thick and nestled in a thatch of dark hair; Yum.

Leaning down, she placed a delicate kiss on the tip; Sherlock groaned deeply and his prick bobbed as though in agreement. She teased her tongue into the tip, greedily licking the drop of fluid that had formed so prettily, before swirling around the glans. Leaning further forward, she took him all the way down her throat; she swallowed around him and he shouted in surprise.

"Oh god, Molly," his voice was shaking, arms strained against his shirt.

She came back up the shaft slowly, cheeks hollowed, before sliding back down again, all the while her tongue circled and licked the silken head. She had folded herself across his lap in order to frame her body and arse to full effect and was gratified when he was unable to tear his eyes away.

"Molly, please, I don't - "

Humming, she allowed him to slip out of her mouth gently. She smiled and nodded, then undid his cuffs and removed his watch while trailing kisses over his palms and the sensitive skin of his inner wrists.

"You do love me," Sherlock insisted, managing to sound petulant even through his pants and moans.

She shrugged, allowing the blankets to fall away and clambered into his lap, feeling attractive and desired when he looked.

Hands everywhere, squeezing her arse, running over her stomach, framing her face lovingly, juxtaposed with his querulous voice, "Molly, you love me."

His deep groans rumbled through her chest and sent frissons of pleasure radiating to her clit. She gasped and circled her hips, her melting cunt sliding against his prick.

Catching her around the waist, he ground her down onto his cock, his tone desperate as he asked, "Molly?"

"Yes - Sherlock?" The words more breath than speech, all she could focus on was the ache between her legs.

"Tell me you love me," his voice was rough, demanding; not a question, a command.

"I love your…ah…your cock," whimpering now as his grip had tightened and his thrusts against her had become rougher.

"Tell me, Molly," his voice barely escaping from between his clenched teeth.

When he pinched her nipples and she arched into his touch, ecstasy roared through her body.

"I love your hands," she bit out, "Just looking at them, I get wet," to demonstrate she slid her slick heat up and down his shaft again, eliciting gasps from them both.

"Say it Molly," smoothing his hands firmly over her back.

"I love your pretty mouth, I want it on my cunt," she threw her head back, the taboo of the word sweetening her pleasure.

The room spun suddenly as her stomach whooshed, Sherlock was now above her and his teeth nipped at her breasts again and again. Each time his teeth closed around flesh, a spike of pleasure had her hips bucking up and her back arching.

"Tell. Me. You. Love. Me." He towered over her, his eyes cataloguing her soul.

Opening her eyes and searching his out, she panted, "I love your beautiful eyes, the way you look at the world, you're - ooohhhh."

Like lightning, his mouth was suddenly on her clit; he was relentless, sucking hard enough to bruise and plunging a finger into her waiting wetness, then it was two, pumping in and out rapidly.

Reduced to a near sobbing mess, Molly cried out, "Ah, ah, ah, ah, ahhhhhhh," hips bucking up and up, her back bowed.

The pressure of his hand on her pubic bone was electric.

Rushing towards her orgasm, the intensity of her pleasure already greater than anything she'd felt with any of her previous lovers - including Moriarty, and he - though she'd never admit this to Sherlock - had excelled.

Sherlock ceased his movements abruptly and looked eyes, his gaze heated, "Tell me you love me Molly."

When he sucked his fingers into his mouth and licked them clean whilst making appreciative sounds and maintaining eye contact, she thought she might pass out.

Thrown by his sudden stop, her chest heaving, she cast around desperately, finally gasping out, "I love your mind."

Languidly, he smiled and stood, he pushed his trousers down his thighs and kicked his shoes off, his socks came off next and Molly marvelled over the fact that he could make such a mundane task seem so elegant, everything he did was effortlessly sexy.

Oh God, his cock twitched and her eyes widened; the sight of it almost too much to bear.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she sought refuge in the darkness behind her lids. Spots of colour twirled and danced and her arousal dimmed slightly.

When she opened her eyes, he was sitting on the bed with his prick ensconced in his fist.

Catching her gaze, he started working his hand up and down; his fingers tightly curled around it and his thumb made a gentle sweep over the head on each pass.

She stared into his eyes, frozen for a long moment, until gravity and desire dragged her gaze back down, his pace was mesmerising, she looked back at his beautiful face, and an almost overwhelming impulse washed over her, urging her to claw at him, demand he fuck her now.

Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back exposing the column of his throat.

Eyes swinging back and forth, she found herself unable to decide where she most wanted to look.

He groaned out her name and Molly cried out.

His eyes opened, and as he looked at her a smile spread across his face, without slowing his pace he allowed his thighs to drift open and asked her, "Do you want me inside you?"

Swallowing hard, she calmed herself a little by taking a breath, before she managed, "Yes."

"Tell me you love me and I'll sink into you and fuck you so hard you'll see stars when you come. I will pound into your sweet little cunt. So. Fucking. Hard."

Desire pooled heat in her tightening stomach, closing her eyes, she whispered, "No."

He laughed, the sound midnight blue and velvet in her ears, "Oh Molly, you're going to say it."

His voice wound around her spine and sent sparks to her throbbing sex. Trailing her right hand down over her stomach, she sought relief.

As her fingers grazed her pubic bone and she sighed in anticipation, his hand suddenly clamped around her wrist.

Sounding almost sorry, he chided, "Just tell me you love me Molly, and I'll make you feel so very good."

Head shaking from side to side, senses heightened to an almost intolerable level, she gasped, "You say it; I love your arse, I think about biting it, all - the - time."

Grinning, he assured her, "I know you do, I think about biting your breasts and fucking you until you scream yourself hoarse." Bending his head, he bit all over her sensitive breasts, hard enough to leave marks but never leaving bruises or opening the skin.

Writhing under him, breath a staccato beat, she encouraged him, "Oh, that feels so good, you're so clever Sherlock."

Feeling his answering smile against her breast as he sucked a nipple into his mouth and held it between his teeth, Molly sucked in a breath, the shock of anticipating pain radiating straight to her clit.

Begging now, she had no choice, her sex was singing in pleasure, her entire body was an erogenous zone, "Please, please," she rasped.

Finally, finally, he was between her legs and he was going to take her and- Oh! "Oh God, Sherlock, oh you feel so fucking good."

Each stroke took him deeper, How big was he? No one had ever felt like this. There was no pain, just beautiful, throbbing, pressure,

Deftly, his large hand swept across her collar bone, firm on her flesh and oh, over the sensitive skin between her breasts before swooping over her stomach.

He knew precisely how to touch.

Floating on a sea of pleasure, she gave into it.

Brushing back and forth over her pubic bone now, his hand making her desperate for contact.

Hips straining up and up before dropping back down from the effort and re-starting the cycle, her eyes squeezed tightly shut; all too aware that to look at him would be to allow him to win whatever twisted game they were playing.

On the heels of that thought, her will dissolved, the call of seeing him with his head buried in her chest, his mess of dark curls contrasting with her pale breasts was too potent and her eyes snapped open.

Looking simply luminous he caught his lip between his teeth and worried it, much the same as he had with her own delicate skin, he asked, "Do you want to me to fuck you hard Molly?"

Oh God, he was going to kill her. She bobbed her head up and down several times, then, to be absolutely certain, she capped it off with an emphatic, "Yes."

Gripping the skin that was stretched tightly across her abdomen, he squeezed, his voice dangerously low, "Then say it," diamond-drill-bit eyes bored into her own.

"Please, please, please, I need-" Imploring with her eyes, her need to orgasm having reached crisis point, lost in sensation, mindlessly seeking more.

Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard and Molly revelled in a surge of triumph, he wasn't as unaffected as he may wish.

Neither of them moved for a long moment, the air was thick, the smell of sex and the unspoken words heavy.

Sherlock sighed.

Opening her eyes Molly saw a flare of resignation slip down over his features briefly before being swiftly replaced with a fierce hunger.

Arranging her legs over his shoulders, he pounded into her; hips snapping as he bottomed out on each stroke, his balls slapped against her arse and his pubic hair felt sublimely rough on her soft skin.

His fingers found her clit, rubbing and circling with precision, as her orgasm built to a crescendo, she cried out, "I don't want to love you when you won't love me back."

She did though, she always had, likely she always would. To have him inside of her, burying himself anew endlessly and his long fingers dancing across her pearl, all she could think was, "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sher-lock, Sherlock!"

Her throat felt raw as she screamed it endlessly, her hips rutting against his, she wanted all of him, every part. As she drifted down from the heights of ecstasy, like a snowflake on a winter's day, reality flooded back in and she sank like a boulder.

Conquered, she whispered in defeat, "I do love you."

"Molly," his tone spoke of love but Molly knew a near orgasmic rush when she saw one, for all that he was special, he was simply a man fucking a very pliable and willing girl.

Meeting his eyes, she whispered, "You just feel so good Sherlock," the words a benediction.

His strokes were slower, more measured, his were eyes soft. He took her legs down gently and fitted his body over hers, peppering kisses all over her face and her neck.

As he pulsed inside he called to her, "Molly, my Molly."

Pain exploded under her ribs, this, this was what loving Sherlock Holmes felt like. He'd shown her and now she knew and she was still going to have to live without, turning away from him she tried not to let her tears spill.

Rolling off, carefully he avoided her eyes, she still saw the guilt. He ran a hand through his hair and though he had no right, he looked more beautiful than he ever had and Molly was sure her heart would ache forever.

"I'm not your Molly though am I? You're here because Jim played with your toy and you do not like to share." Not even bothering to attempt to hide her complete emotional annihilation, she asked, "Why did you make me say it Sherlock?"

"I wanted - " Looking more like a chastised child than the proficient lover of a moment ago, his lips were pressed together in a line, his eyes downcast.

"You wanted your ego stroked, to be number one, to take more than Jim was given."

Needing to get away, she stood on shaky feet, forcing herself to look at him, it cost her dearly but to shy away would have been unconscionable, feeling oddly detached she added, "Congratulations, you won, now get out."

Looking hurt, he protested, "But Molly I - "

Enunciating each word carefully in an attempt to hide her misery, she stood with her hands on her hips, physically she was done hiding. "Do you love me? Say it or get out."

Looking utterly dejected, he smoothed his palms over his face roughly, "I can't, I -"

Using her pain to seal her heart, she stood, open to his gaze. She caught his eye, issuing a challenge, Look, you prick, it'll be the last fucking time.

He did so, though he didn't appear to glean enjoyment from it.

Savage vindication thrummed through her and she held her head a touch higher, she carefully kept herself blank while his gaze travelled achingly slowly up the length of her before making it to her eyes at last.

An unmistakeable and knowing gleam flared in his eyes when he noticed her expression and Molly laughed mirthlessly as she moved away, How he loves his games.

Pausing, she levelled a cool look at him over her shoulder, "You can see yourself out, I'm having a shower, I expect you will be gone when I return."

~o0oo0oo0o~

Tears streaked down over her cheeks as she pushed the bathroom door open, leaning on the frame for a moment, she allowed the sadness to drag her down, though she was careful to keep her sobbing silent. Turning the shower on, she closed the bathroom door and waited feeling numb, for the water to warm up.

Climbing in, she doused herself liberally with her favourite body wash, needing to rid herself of his scent.

Vibrations travelled up from her feet as the door bounced off of the shower wall, Molly jumped and placed a hand over her heart, partially obscuring one soapy breast.

"I can't say it, he'll know and he promised to burn the heart out of me," his words were strung together quickly, frantically.

Locking his gaze on his feet, he refused to look up. "Look at what he did to John, what would he do to you?"

Pain laced through his words, Molly realised with a start that he was telling the truth, he truly was afraid and most startling of all, he loved her.

"I can't lose you but I won't let him hurt you. Do you see? He'll know."

A sob of pure relief flew out of Molly's mouth, This foolish, impossible, beautiful man.

Stepping out of the shower, padding on silent feet, she stopped in front of him, soap and water dripped freely from her body, uncaring she placed a hand on his chest.

Heart swelling with love, her voice was gentle as she assured him, "You don't have to say it, so long as you feel it?"

Nodding emphatically, his eyes remained squeezed shut.

Feeling as though she could leap over tall buildings, she called to him, "Sherlock?"

Finally he opened his eyes, his eyes were shining and his expression sweet and when he smiled the sun came out.

"Kiss me."

~o0oo0oo0o~

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Tumblr? Come and find me, I'm sweet-sweet-escape  
**


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